Breaking Your Own Heart
by Lacy.Bennett
Summary: "You might not be able to die, but you can feel pain just as much as any of us stuck in this house."
1. Chapter 1

Breaking Your Own Heart

Chapter One

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><p>AN: Since AHS ended last night and there isn't a guarantee that we'll see Tate/Violet next season (I've learned to never believe anything Ryan Murphy or Brad Falchuk say) I decided to type this up. I'm not exactly sure where this fic is headed but I do have a few ideas so if this is something you guys are interested in reading, I'd love to give it a shot.

This picks up a few months after the finale scene between Tate and Violet. This is also my very first time writing any type of fanfiction so I'm not guaranteeing this is going to be good. I've only ever written research papers and lesson plans so we'll see how this goes.

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><p>Violet isn't exactly sure when she truly fell in love with Tate. She thinks it was sometime between that day she found out she was dead and the day she told him to go away. It's kind of unhealthy, the way they love each other.<p>

He raped her mother. He impregnated her _mother_.

Yet the hole Violet feels in her chest gets a little bit bigger every time she thinks of the blonde boy that is by definition an apathetic psychopath. At least that's what it says in Tate's file downstairs in her father's old office. But Violet knows Tate. She knows his heart his full of sorrow. She knows he can _feel_. He loves her, after all, and that's something Violet will never doubt.

What she doesn't know though, is why the darkness has such a hold on him. She's seen Tate fight it. Fight the voices in his head and he tries. He tries to do the right thing and be good. But in the end the darkness takes over and Tate does something bad, something awful and unforgivable. Violet always forgives him though. She's forgiven him for everything, the shooting, the murder of the couple that lived in the house before her. She forgave him so easily because she truly believed he wanted to change. She stills believes that.

And Violet knows what he did to her mother; Tate told her all about how he dressed up in that damn rubber suit and snuck into the Harmon's bedroom last year.

It hurts. Knowing Tate, the boy Violet is completely and stupidly in love with, touched her mother. He has been inside her, came inside her. Violet knows what it looks like when Tate comes. She knows how he grips her arms tightly as he tumbles off the edge and leans into her, brushing his lips against her throat and mumbling 'I love you' as they both come down from that high. It sickens her to even imagine him touching Vivien.

And as she sits in her room by her window, the cigarette smoking unfurling from her mouth and her fingernails digging into her palm, it sickens her even more to know that she's forgiven him for raping her mother. It makes her stomach twist into knots and her thoughts go fuzzy because she shouldn't forgive him. Tate should pay for what he did, not only to Vivien, but to everyone else that he's hurt. He should hurt just as much as Violet did when she found out about the rape.

But Violet doesn't want him to hurt, not really. She wants to be able to slide her fingers through his hair and kiss him. She wants to touch him, to be with him, and just be near him. She needs to feel him and make sure he understands that she's sorry for making him leave all those weeks ago.

She feels the same things he feels for her. She's the only light he's ever known and as much as the darkness surrounds him, he's her light, too. He's bright and he makes her smile even when she's having the shittiest days. He knows how to make her laugh and that when he kisses that spot right above her navel it makes her squirm and blush. No one else knows that and she doesn't want anyone else to ever get that close to her. She just wants Tate. And if having Tate means she has to have his darkness too, so be it.

He's her light and she forgives him. No matter how disgusting that might be.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A huge thank you to the readers that read and reviewed.

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><p>"She's looking for you, you know," Hayden's voice interrupts his concentration as she circles around him, taunting him.<p>

"Go away," Tate tells her, but she just grins. "I don't want you here."

"Don't say it unless you mean it," she tangles her fingers in his hair making him jerk away from her touch. "You are the one that taught me no one can make me leave unless they truly want me to disappear."

"What do you want, Hayden? I thought my bastard father was keeping you busy."

"I got bored," she shrugs and leans against the wall opposite him. "Lonely."

"Don't pretend like you have feelings, Hayden. You're just as dark and twisted as I am."

"Are you admitting you're not good enough for Violet?" She questions with a dark smile.

"No one is good enough for her," Tate moves from his chair and away from Hayden, hiding the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "No one ever will be. I thought I might be what she needed, but all I do is hurt her. I'm the darkness and she's light. That's what she told me."

"Whatever," Hayden rolls her eyes. "It doesn't matter anyway because I heard Moira talking with the realtor about the new family that's moving in at the end of the week. They have a son about seventeen. I saw him the other day when they dropped by. He's pretty cute."

"Ben and Vivien will scare them away like they did to the last family," he shrugs.

"Violet noticed him, too," she tells him. "He's blonde, like you. I think he might be her type."

"Why are you down here?"

"Violet reminds me of myself. She's strong, stronger than you, but she's got all these damn teenage hormones telling her that she loves you. If I were her –"

"She's nothing like you," Tate interrupts.

"I'd kill you," She continues slowly. "And then kill you again. How long do you really think Violet can pretend that what you did is forgivable? How long until she realizes just how awful you really are? You may have that whole charming teenage boy act down pat and she may even fall for it again just like she did the first time, but that isn't going to change the fact that you're broken, Tate."

"Go away, Hayden!" Tate growls. "You might not be able to die, but you can feel pain just as much as any of us stuck in this house," he stalks towards her, his fingers curling dangerously around her slender neck, and for a second something etches across her face, but it's quickly replaced by a sneer. "Leave me alone, leave Violet alone! Go away!"

"Fine," Hayden says as she pushes his hand away. "By the way, a little birdy told me Ben and Vivien have been looking for you. You might want to watch your back."

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><p>Maybe she hurt him more than she thought. Violet can't find Tate anywhere. She knows he can hear her calling for him, but he won't appear for her. She's checked everywhere. The basement, the attic, her dad's old office. It's like he's disappeared so she sinks to the floor in her old room,<em> his<em> old room, and starts to shuffle the old deck of cards Tate liked to pull out whenever they got bored.

But then she gets bored herself and the cards are left scattered on the floor as she lifts herself up and walks to the window. The sun is bright outside; she can feel the heat on her skin even through the window. It's a weird sensation. She's dead; she's seen her own decaying body. And her death, though a fuzzy memory in the back of her head, drowns her thoughts when she passes that bathroom, the tub where Tate tried to save her. She can't explain why she still feels. She can still hear the pounding of her heart in her ears when she gets angry at Hayden or those damn twins always playing tricks on her. Sometimes she feels tired even though she doesn't have to sleep. Sometimes she wakes up and for a second she thinks she can smell the French toast her mother used to make for breakfast. But when she gets to the kitchen it's just Moira polishing the unused silver because it isn't "sparkling" enough. Violet remembers she's dead and dead people, _ghosts_, don't eat.

And she thinks she remembers watching Tate get rid of her body. Maybe she knew the whole time she was dead. Maybe that's why she always let Tate convince her not to leave the house. She knew she wouldn't be able to. She knew she would forever be doomed to suffer an eternity in this dark and twisted house.

Violet's hand reaches into her dress pocket and she flips her Zippo open, the flame a mix of blue, orange, and heat jumping in front of her face. She lowers the lighter, closer to her free hand and she frowns as she watches the skin of her fingers burn. She can feel the heat, the pain. Violet jerks her hand away and the lighter falls to the floor with a dull thud, the flame going out before it even left her hand. She can still feel pain. Maybe that's what keeps all of them here. The pain of what they did wrong when they were alive. Maybe that's the true darkness.

Tate killed people, her dad was a cheating bastard, Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery performed abortions on naïve girls, Hayden was Ben's mistress, and Violet killed herself. She swallowed a bunch of pills and died. Isn't that the most unforgivable sin? Suicide. And now Violet is damned to an eternity of purgatory in this house with everyone else. It's kind of ironic. She took those pills to get away from everything, everyone. Her mom, her dad, Tate being dead. And now she's trapped with them. Forever.

Her hand shakily bring a cigarette to her lips and it stays there, perched between her chapped red lips as she bends for the lighter she dropped. The lighter flickers to life and the smell of burnt paper and tobacco hit her hard.

"I thought you said you were going to stop smoking." It's Tate's voice that makes Violet jerk around to find him leaning against the door frame.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," she tells him and smashes the cigarette into the ashtray by her window.

"I wasn't ready to talk to you."

"Are you ready now?" Violet questions and wipes her palms on either side of her dress. She's not sure why she's so nervous.

"No," his voice is tired and hollow, kind of like how she feels all the time. She can hear the tears in his voice before she actually sees them.

"Where have you been?"

"Watching you."

She doesn't like his short, snippy answers. They make her heart ache and her throat constrict. "Come in here," she motions him toward the bed as she lets herself sink under the comforter. "Lie down with me."

"You don't want to talk?" He asks.

"No," she shakes her head quickly and she swallows the lump in her throat when he finally caves and walks towards her bed. "I don't wanna talk, Tate. I want to lay here and have you hold my hand because if we talk we're just going to be mad at each other and then you'll leave again."

"You're still mad at me?" It's a stupid question and they both know it. Their fingers tangle together as he gets into the bed beside her. "I understand."

"No, Tate. You really don't," Violet whispers the words. "I don't want to be mad at you. I don't want to be dead. I don't want to be stuck in this house forever."

"We'll have each other, Vi," Tate reassures her, but it just makes her heart ache more. "You're all I have."

Violet wills the tears away and lets Tate bury his head into her neck, his lips pressing against her skin because he can. Everything feels normal, like it used to be. But then Violet catches sight of her mother standing in the doorway of the bedroom. Everything's back to normal. Almost.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own AHS. I mentioned a few movies in this chapter, they kind of hint at my age, but I don't own any of those either.

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><p>"A new family is moving in tomorrow."<p>

Tate's voice is lazy and happy as he traces circles on her hip while they lay in bed. She wonders if this is really all it takes to make Tate happy. How can he be so carefree when she's so angry and sad all the time? But then she remembers that feeling she gets in her stomach whenever she sees Tate.

The fluttering in her lower belly and the blush that starts on her chest and makes it way up to her cheeks. The heat that swells between her thighs when he gives her that smirk she's fallen in the love with and that way her head swims when he kisses her. She gets delirious and dazed when he kisses her, sucking the air from her lungs while his fingers slide over her body in tortuous patterns. Down her arms, over her chest, his fingertips tickling her sides through her dresses and dipping into the waistband of her leggings to make her squirm and make those breathy little noises in the back of her throat he says he loves to hear.

Maybe he gets that feeling too when he sees her and kisses her and that's why he's happy right now. When she's around Tate that sadness in the pit of her stomach goes away for a while and the pain in her chest lessens a bit as soon he starts talking.

"Tate?" Violet whispers his name cautiously and he hums to let her know he's listening. "I love you."

His shifts his head to study her eyes and the smile taking over his face is genuine.

"I just wanted you to know that," she adds and lets him press a tender kiss to her forehead.

"I love you, too."

"Why? I mean, can you just explain to me why you're in love with me?" Violet sits up then, determined to understand his reasons.

Tate furrows his brow but sits up as well. "I don't know if it's something I can explain, Vi. I just do. I just know I love you. I love how you make me feel."

"How do I make you feel, Tate?" She asks quietly and watches the way he tangles their fingers together in his lap.

"Like I'm not falling anymore," he shrugs and ducks his head.

Violet worries her lip between her teeth and lets him pull her into his lap on her bed. And when his lips connect with her own she almost forgets everything else in the world but him. She pushes herself through the haze she's in when he pulls away.

"You give me a reason to want to be good, Violet."

"You shouldn't need a reason, Tate," she clambers out of his lap and walks across her room to shuffle through her CD's.

"I know," his voice is small. "I'm sorry, Violet."

"Stop staying that." Violet hits the button on her stereo a bit harder than necessary and the song drifts from the speakers to fill her ears. "Just shut up."

"Come lay down with me," he pleads.

"I don't want to."

"Vi?"

"I'm tired of lying around here, Tate," she shakes her head and ignores it when he starts to walk toward her. "I want to do something, _anything_."

"We can play cards," he suggests half-heartedly and is relieved when she quickly shoots down the idea. "It's the fourth of July. Fireworks will be going off soon at the ball field. You can always see them from the back porch. Wanna go watch them?"

"Yeah, okay."

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Violet has never like fireworks. Not since she was four and she got burned by one those small fireworks that jump around in the grass after you light them. But she doesn't complain when she sits next to Tate on the steps on the back porch. She's missed Tate the last few weeks, missed his touch so when a rather loud firework explodes she uses it as an excuse to nudge herself closer to him and make him put an arm around her shoulders.

She feels kind of stupid with all the thoughts swirling in her head. She's always found those love struck teenage girls to be pathetic and annoying. She always expected falling in love to be different. As much as Violet hates to admit it, she always kind of wanted to have Heath Ledger serenade her on a football field or ride off into the sunset with Patrick Dempsey on a lawnmower.

Being trapped in a murder house with the boy that raped your mother and killed more than fifteen people is warped and a little depraved.

Violet tugs his hand, just a bit, and wonders if she ever had a choice. She tries to think of how it would be if she hadn't fallen for Tate's charm, if she hadn't let herself fall in love with him and allow him to love her back.

But when his head turns and she catches sight of that lopsided grin that graces his face so often, she wonders if _he _ever had a choice. He didn't choose to be in this house any more than she did. However, she can't help but wonder if it's the house that makes him so dark, or if that's just how he is. How he'll always be.

"It's cold, Tate," she says near the end of the display, right before they do the big finale. "Can we go back up to my room?"

"Yeah," He pulls her to her feet with him, but doesn't let go of her hand as they walk up the stairs to her room. "Are you tired?"

"No, I just want to crawl under the covers with you. You're always warm."

They're both quiet for a while once they're in the bedroom and the noise of Violet restlessly trying to get comfortable next to Tate is the only sound in the room. The lights are off save for the small lamp next to the bed and the door is almost shut with a sliver of light peeking in from the hallway.

"What are you doing?" Tate finally asks when he feels her hands running over his chest. "I thought you were asleep."

"I just want to feel you," she explains.

She pauses at the hem of his shirt almost like she's asking permission to go any further. Her fingers are cautious as they slide up his stomach. She knows her hands are shaking but she can't help it. When she pushes the material towards his head and moves to straddle his abdomen she finds nothing but smooth skin. She wonders how Tate does it. Violet knows how he died. He should have bullet holes covering this pale chest but her fingers find none. But it's probably the same reason her mother doesn't look pregnant and her dad doesn't have rope burns on his neck.

"Do I make you sad, Violet?" He questions when he catches the look etched on her face. "Your eyes are always sad."

"So are yours," she tells him seriously and her fingers pull at his sweater once more. He complies and lifts to tug the piece of clothing over his head. "That's the first thing I noticed about you."

"What are we doing here, Violet?"

She shrugs and makes sure he's watching her before pulling her dress over her head and it lands on the floor next to his sweater. "Take off my tights, Tate."

He rolls them over on the bed and the breath catches in her throat. She loves the way he's looking at her. The way he can't seem to _stop_ looking at her.

"You sure?" He asks warily.

She huffs and starts to push at the material herself, but he grasps her wrists and shakes his head.

"I'll do it."

She holds her breath while she watches him slowly pull the tights down her legs. They puddle onto the floor with everything else and Violet's left in only her bra and panties. His hand moves to the button of his jeans, but waits there while he watches her face to see what she wants him to do.

"It's okay, Tate," she scoots up on the bed a bit and waits as he sheds himself of his jeans and now they're both in their underwear. "I just want to_ feel_ you," she repeats her own words and her fingernails dig into the skin of his lower arm after he climbs back onto the bed with her. "I want to feel something besides pain."

"I'll make you feel everything, Violet. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it," it is a promise she knows he means. "Just tell me what to do."

Violet reaches for something, anything, but she doesn't know what she wants. That's her problem. She doesn't _know_. She doesn't understand how Tate could have done all of those horrible things when he's so sweet and caring to her.

"Tell me, Vi," he murmurs against her skin and she shivers.

The next words she speaks leave a bitter taste on her tongue and she's able to bite back the heavy tears from her eyes as she mutters, "go away, Tate."

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><p>AN: I haven't really had time to read any of the Violet/Tate fics, but if anyone has any suggestions for some good ones I'm open to hear them.


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